


Things We Already Know.

by Kali Cephirot (10AlliraDream84)



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka, Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Fucked Up Fairytales, Gen, Meta, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-04
Updated: 2011-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10AlliraDream84/pseuds/Kali%20Cephirot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The woman smiles. It's a gentle smile quiet and warm but it scares Madoka anyway. It's as if the woman knew her without knowing her. Madoka episode 9 spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things We Already Know.

**Things We Already Know.**

The day of Sayaka's funeral is sunny and warm and there is not one cloud in the sky. Sayaka's mother cries, Hitomi cries as well, and Madoka thinks she might be crying except that her heart hurts too much to think about it. But her father is hugging her and he tells her that mom will come home early, tonight so Madoka thinks, she probably is crying.

But she waits and she listens and it keeps hurting and hurting and she thinks:

Can't I wake up from this, too?

Please?

*

The roses smell sweet and the earth she's standing on is soft, the grass wet with dew. Madoka looks around and sees the woman who is tending to the roses, the rich brown of her skin, the soft curve of her smile. There's a small mouse sleeping on her shoulder.

She looks at her but the woman keeps tending at the roses and it's not until she's done that she turns to look at her.

“Would you care for some tea?”

*

The woman moves around. There's tea set that Madoka didn't notice, and the woman pours her fragrant, bittersweet tea that makes her cough, but it warms her chest. She has felt so cold lately.

“Who are--” Madoka starts.

The woman smiles, brown hands around her cup, holding the dainty little cup. It makes a soft clink when she puts it down.

“No-one, I think. I don't fit anymore, which can be a bit troublesome, but I also don't care enough to fit again. It's a third choice, one no-one ever said could exist.”

“Third choice,” Madoka says. The tea seems golden in the cup.

“Usually we're only given two choices. The third choice, we create it ourselves.”

“Choices,” Madoka says. She looks up. “What choices?”

The woman smiles. It's a gentle smile quiet and warm. Hitomi smiles like that, in a way, but her smile has never scared Madoka the way this woman's smile does.

“I wonder, do you know?”

“Know?”

“What witches are.”

Madoka doesn't drop her cup. It was already on the small table that she never noticed, but she still feels scalded by the tea that doesn't fall down on her hands, on her lap.

“Witches are girls who aren't princesses,” the woman says, once she doesn't answer. Her voice is kind, and her eyes are calm, and her words pierce through Madoka like a sword or a lance, something big and painful that she doesn't know how to deal with. “And thus, they are hated.”

“I never hated Sayaka-chan!” Madoka cries. It hurts it hurts it hurts. “We didn't know! We didn't know that--”

“That witches can be little girls too, of course, of course,” the woman says again. The mouse on her shoulder stirs and blinks up its eyes before it yawns again and rolls over to sleep once more. It almost falls, but the woman catches it and she keeps it between her hands. “And still, it's true. Oh dear, I'm sorry, but it is.”

“There must be a way,” Madoka sobs. Sayaka. Kyouko. Mami. All the witches that she feared when she didn't know. Homura who will still be fighting against them, all alone, and Madoka thinks she remembers something like this, something similar, and she doesn't want Homura to fight alone.

The woman hums, tapping a long finger against her chin, thinking and humming.

“Usually, princes save princesses, and they fight against witches. But sometimes, “princesses get to be witches, too,” she says, thoughtful. “And sometimes they need rescue, but sometimes the rescue needs to come within themselves. Ah, I'm sorry, that's not helpful, is it? Please, drink while it's warm.”

Madoka takes a sip of the tea. Roses.

“With no power?”

“Power is what turns people into witches,” the woman smiles. “But wishes are powerful things.”

Wishes are bad. That is what Madoka is thinking. Wishing killed her best friend, and they made Mami fight alone and she didn't know Kyouko's wish but it made her angry and lonely, that she knows. She doesn't know Homura's wish, but it's something that is hurting her, too.

She doesn't know her own wish and she' scared of knowing it, too. Scared of what it'd do. If her wish is the greatest, then won't it be the greatest sorrow, too?

“Swords are dangerous things,” the woman says, softly. “They pierce through you and they kill you, yes, and they kill others, and even the one wielding the sword will die by one.”

The woman reaches towards her. Her hand is warm against her face, not scalding like the tea-words over her but warm against the ice she has felt for what feels an eternity. She wipes her tears away.

“So there are, really, more ways to fight than with something that pierces your body, I think.”

“How?”

“Things that pierce through your soul are more powerful. Witches call them spells. But, if I'm not mistaken, princesses and princes call them promises.”

“I tried that!” Madoka cries again. “I tried so hard!”

“Think about it,” the woman says, and then she takes her hand way, and Madoka is falling, and falling, and falling.

**

She wakes up on her bed, tears on her face but that has been happening a lot. She thinks she smells roses, but that's absurd: there are no roses inside her bedroom, so Madoka holds her doll against her and turns to face the wall, trying to sleep again.

**

“That was useless.”

“Ah, Akemi-san,” the woman smiles. There's dirt on her skin and on her simple, summer dress. “Tea?”

“No,” Homura crosses her arms. The woman still pours herself a cup of tea, and Homura doesn't allow herself to glare, even if she can feel herself bristling.

A witch is a witch is a witch. This is the premise she lives through, the way she has found to keep her precious thing safe.

The woman - the witch - takes a sip of her tea, humming. “Useless. I wonder.”

“You didn't say a thing she didn't know already,” she wonders what kind of Grief Seed this witch would have, but she doesn't attack her. Not quite.

“Sometimes, Akemi-san, we need someone to remind us about the things we already know,” the woman says and her voice is soft. The ring on her finger glitters, and Homura moves a hand through her hair before she turns around to walk away.

“Of course, Chuu-Chuu,” she hears the woman say, not a whisper, but not directed at her. “Akemi-san already knows that. Of course.”


End file.
